"Can I kiss you?"
Harry: His fingers twist through the messy curls atop his head, nervous laughter spitting out of him momentarily; a smirk dances across his features as his hands shake. "What are you so nervous for anyways?" you question, earning yourself a glare which suddenly reduces to a soft smile, his dimples falling back into his cheeks. "I was gonna ask you something, but then I realized it was dumb, I-" he laughs slightly, the sound fully giving way to his nerves. "How?" He shakes his head, "Just is." You lean over, looking directly into his eyes and his smile drops, "Can I-can I kiss you?" he stutters. Just friends; that's what you had agreed to. Just friends and nothing more. But with his gaze fully on your lips and his own very pink, pouted lower lip jutting out, the temptation is there and minutes later he's off the couch, crawling to where you sit on the floor. The sight of the tall boy crawling towards you falls rise to several giggles, until he's in front of you, one large hand tucked beneath your chin. "I never gave you an answer," you mutter, but he shakes his head. "You know you still want me," he breathes, his lips coming down to brush against yours, smiling when you don't pull away, only to kiss you fully, gently, leaving your lips tingling at the sensation.
Niall: Hips sway to the music blaring inside the walls of your tiny living room; rain pours down outside the windows, the dark streets barely lit. A chorus of laughter floods the place, meeting your ears; it's a comforting, melodic sound. It's Niall. It's every essence of his being just poured into that one heartwarming sound; so contagious and full of life. It's full of memories, memories of years before the X Factor, before all the fame, back to the same old Niall clutching your tiny hands in his own, a huge grin on his face as he twirls around the couch. He stops, a pant of breath coming out heavily, "Your dancin' is horrible," he chides, eyes closing as he leans back fully into the low chuckle rising from his stomach. "Like you're any better, Horan!" you defend, now standing with your hands on your hips. Without warning, his hand grips your wrist, pulling you flush against his chest. He stares down at you with a grin. "You're right, me dancin's rubbish," he says. Your cheeks heat up, his eyes on you, your stomach flooding with butterflies once his free hand lands on your cheek. "Can I kiss you?" his eyes never leave your lips, his other hand dropping from your waist to completely cradle your face, only giving you a brief moment to nod, his lips covering yours.
Liam: Drunken laughter elude the both of you; the scent of alcohol lingering in the air, hanging on every hot breath filling the room. Stories of times before, stories of memories shared flood your ears. "And then I fell for her," he laughed, bringing the bottle to his lips again. "She must be a really lucky girl, Liam," you smile, words beginning to slur ever so slightly. "Oh, I don't know," he stands, fiddling with his fingers, his lower lip jutting out. "Hadn't really told her yet." A tiny laugh falls from your lips as a hiccup comes from his mouth. "Hadn't had the time." You shrug, "Why not? Tell her I mean. Can't be any harm in it." He chuckles, and for a moment turns into a giddy, giggly school boy in front of you, not the muscled up, macho-looking Liam Payne you're so used to. "Okay. Well. I um-I didn't tell her, because well, it's you." Your jaw drops and he's suddenly beside you. "Can I kiss you?" You're startled, and you laugh, edging away from him a bit. "You're drunk." He shakes his head, "But I'm an honest drunk, you know this." Air hitches in the back of your throat as you assess his words; no doubt he was an honest drunk, the boy couldn't keep a secret for more than a few minutes even with the tiniest amount of alcohol flooding his veins. "Liam, I-" "Can I?" he smiles, "C'mon, give me a chance." Hesitantly, a large hand cups your face, lips meet yours and that's it.
Louis: "Babe, this is fucking ridiculous. No. Just no. I don't understand it. I can't go out and spend all this time with my mates, but you're wanting to go out tonight when I planned something for us? Fuck no," he curses again, flinging himself down onto the couch. In his gray beanie and sweats, he doesn't seem very threatening, actually more cuddly than anything else. His arms cross over his chest, the tattoos circling his wrists poking out from beneath the sleeves of his hoodie. You cross the cold hardwood, pressing yourself into the cushions next to him, propping yourself on your elbow against the back of the couch. "Lou, look at me. Louis," you say, poking his arm. He stares blankly ahead, hardly even blinking as he watches the pictures flowing from the television screen. "Baaabe," you press against his arm, tucking your own around it. "I'll stay here," you insist. "The girls can wait." His eyes flicker towards you once, but then back to the screen. "Can I kiss you?" you ask and he turns, looking at you with a confused expression on his face. "What?" he laughs. Lips meet once, then repeatedly, as tongues graze over each other, hands tangling in hair, flowing across hot skin. Foreheads remain against each other, eyes fluttering open as ragged breaths flow. "Still mad at me?" you mumble, only to be met by flowing laughter and to find yourself being flung back against the couch, wandering hands tugging at the bottom of your shirt, lips connecting once more.
Zayn: "I can't stand to see you this way," he chokes on his words, forcing down his own tears as thumbs trace gently over your cheekbones, catching pesky tears as they slide down your face. While he can't stand to see you this way, and while he can feel his own tears trying to appear, he swallows down the feeling; him crying as well won't make this go away, won't make you listen. "Can I kiss you?" he mumbles questionably, so soft that it's almost inaudible. With a sniffle, tear-brimmed eyes, and what surely had to be a completely red face, he catches your attention with those words, forcing your eyes upwards to meet his own glassy ones. A slight nod from you is all it takes for one careful hand to tuck itself beneath your chin, bringing your face to his as lips meet, clearing your mind and easing the pain, even if only for a moment.
(Tumblr)
